Little Pieces Falling Shatter
by Noella-Ange
Summary: Dean's late night thoughts after his to return to Sam. Post-Season 3. Follows my other short story "Scarring Darker Still".


**Little Pieces Falling Shatter**

Disclaimer: The boys are Kripke's but the story's mine.

A/N: This is from Dean's POV. It takes place about a week after my other story _Scarring Darker Still_.

* * *

The sound of harsh breathing startles me awake. I am a bit unnerved when I realize it's me. I glance around the darkened motel room trying to get my bearings and remember just why it is that I'm gasping for air like a fish out of water.

I throw the covers off of me as I struggle to get out of bed. Unconsciously, I quiet my faltering steps across the room so as not to awaken Sammy.

The bathroom door closes with a barely audible click. I flip the switch of the bright, unforgiving light, allowing a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Then I fill a nearby glass with water and drink it all down in large, greedy gulps.

So, here I am again. The same place I have found myself every night since I've come back to Sam. Lost, confused, just trying to pull the pieces together. He tells me I have been gone for months, but I don't know how that could possibly be true.

Sure, I'm having a hard time remembering where I was before I knocked on the motel door. And, okay, I'll admit, the more time that goes by with this gaping whole in my memory, the more desperate I am to remember.

But, I'm drawing a complete blank. Last I remember, Sam, Bobby and I were working on getting me out of my one-way trip to hell. Next thing I know, I'm outside the motel. How can I lose _months_ out of my life? My god, what if I…no, I would know if I did something awful, wouldn't I?

And as if that's not enough to deal with, I've been having…dreams or nightmares or whatever you want to call them. Always the same, or I should say, they always make me feel the same.

Just something else I can't seem to remember. Most likely my dreams are only dreams, they aren't real. But the panic, terror, despair, emptiness upon waking sure as hell are real. Which is why I haven't gotten more than a few hours of sleep each night.

That brings me back to my reflection in the mirror. To put it simply, I don't look good. And that's not just my opinion. Not only did that hot waitress in the diner this morning _not _give me a second look, but Sam can see it too.

He's been a bit of a mother hen since I came back, always quick with the concerned looks and questions. _Dean, aren't you gonna finish your food? Are you sleeping okay? Are you sure you don't want to talk about it, maybe it will help you remember?_

I don't blame him - I lost him for a week once. I can't imagine what it would be like to not know where he was for a few months. I've asked him about the last week before I disappeared, how I got out of my deal, but his answers have been vague on the few occasions he has even bothered to respond. He also gets this look…a flash of pure misery, which he quickly hides. Just as fast, I pretend I don't see it.

He's keeping something from me. I'm not sure I want to know what it is just yet. I'm barely keeping myself together at this point. Not that there's any reason my little brother should have to know or worry about that.

I turn on the faucet and splash my face with ice cold water. As I'm drying myself, there's a light knock on the bathroom door.

"Dean…you okay in there?"

I must have been in here longer that I thought. It's so easy to lose track of time when your lost in your own head.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

I flush the toilet in an attempt to create the illusion this was no more than a nightly visit to relieve myself. I look in that damn mirror again. I have to make sure my game face is on, cracked though it may be.

I open the bathroom door, turn off the light, and make my way back across the room. Sam's in bed doing his best to pretend to be asleep, but I can tell by his breathing he's as awake as I am.

But I am grateful for his charade, I don't want to talk right now. Not about my disappearance, my memory loss, nor the reasons for my lack of sleep…I just…can't. I'm not even sure I know how.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading and please leave a review. Moreover, I have been contemplating writing another snippet from Bobby's POV to follow this story. Let me know if you would be interested in reading it.


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